Before I ever knew the taste of champagne or the feel of silk sheets,
I knew what it was to pull carrots from the dirt, rinse them in cold water, and eat them barefoot under the sun.
It’s no secret I adore farm-to-table dining.
Maybe because I grew up with it —
Fresh eggs in the morning, herbs from the garden,
meals that felt like rituals, not routines.
There’s something deeply sensual about food when it’s that honest.
When you can still feel the sun in it.
When it melts on your tongue and makes you close your eyes — because it deserves your full attention.
That’s the kind of pleasure I crave most: the kind that slows you down, grounds you, begs to be savored.
Maybe that’s why I melt for local wines that taste like the land they came from.
For long, lingering meals under the trees with someone I want to drink in, too.
Lately, I’ve been dreaming of a food and wine escape —
Maybe Niagara-on-the-Lake… or somewhere wildly romantic like Tuscany or the South of France.
You and me.
A countryside table set for two.
A menu that teases every sense.
A night that doesn’t end with dessert.
Care to indulge with me?
